Chapter 6
Noah
My shirt is soaked, an uncomfortable reminder of my screwup clinging to my skin as I walk away from the pool.
Bea’s angry voice echoes in my head with her little insults meant to keep me at distance.
But instead, it had the opposite effect.
With her big, blue eyes and wet dress hugging her figure, I wanted to pull her closer and kiss that defiance off her.
But she pushed me away.
Thank god one of us still has a working brain.
I trudge back to my suite. The resort is oddly silent for this hour, and I usually prefer that. But not now. I don’t want to stay alone with this voice in my head telling me to go to Beatrice, apologize for everything, and promise to fix everything.
But she’s not mine. She belongs to my brother, at least for a year—the contract states that very clearly.
My phone buzzes with Martin’s name on the screen.
“No word from Ezra,” he says in a tight voice. “Ferries continue as normal, but I can’t find record of him ever boarding one.”
“So he’s officially missing?” I pull my shirt away from my skin.
“No contact. No trace. I guess we should call it. Interesting detail is that the other Wrong sister boarded the same plane. Did she make it there?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll double-check with her family.”
“Are they not worried?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “The only thing they’re worried about is if their water has enough sparkles.”
“I see,” Martin says after a pause. “What an interesting alliance it will be.”
“You have no idea.” I sigh. “I’ll see what I can find out from here and then report him missing to the locals.”
I end the call and start pacing the room. Ezra is missing. And as I’ve just learned, Maeve Wrong is too—probably on the same boat ride into that storm.
I swap my wet shirt for a dry one, throw on shorts, and head out. Beatrice is likely drowning her anger at the bar, at least that’s what I would do. Avoiding her would be smart. But I need to ask about Maeve, and talking to Bea feels easier than facing her unbothered parents.
The bar is dim and nearly empty. Low lights cast long shadows over straw chairs and the glossy counter.
She’s there, hunched over a table, not drinking this time but flipping through a notebook and talking to a staffer with a honey-sweet voice I’ve never heard her use with me.
The same white sundress hugs her curves, the still damp material clinging to her skin for dear life, but she seems not to be bothered by it.
She’s gorgeous, even when wrecked, and I hate how it ignites the interest below my belt. The bar’s quiet—no guests, just staff glancing her way. The staffer she’s talking to is staring at her intently. His eyes haven’t lifted above her chin the whole time I’ve been watching him.
When she spots me heading her direction, her eyes narrow to slits. “What now, caveman? I thought we put all dots over the i’s.”
I slide into the chair across from her, keeping the table as a barrier, and the staffer walks away sheepishly. “Making sure you don’t burn this place down, little mouse. Find anything on your sister?”
The fight behind her eyes about what to do with my question is obvious. But it must be important to her because she replies with a loud sigh of defeat. “No. Anything on Ezra?”
I shake my head and start tapping my finger on the table. I feel like an asshole because of the breakfast at her parents’ suite. They’re morons who treat her like trash, and I wonder how she remains sane after living with them for so long.
I wanted to say something. I needed to. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop if I started, and it could have gone two ways. And neither of them would have been good.
“Are you okay?” I ask when I can’t keep it inside anymore.
She looks so strong, so unmoved by everything even though thirty minutes ago she was being reduced to tears by her parents.
It made me see red, but I couldn’t afford punching her father before the wedding no matter how much I wanted to—Ezra would have skinned me alive.
The old scars on my knuckles nearly split open because of the tight fists I made in order to stay put.
Bea’s jaw tightens at my question while she slams her notebook shut. “What’s your deal, King? One minute you’re playing bodyguard, the next you’re throwing me to the wolves. Pick a side and stick to it. Your instability is giving me whiplash.”
I lean forward, keeping my voice low. “My side is with Ezra. Always has been, always will be. You’re his mess, not mine.”
The lie tastes bitter, and I nearly give myself whiplash from how fast I’m changing gear. But her fire has clawed its way under my skin to remain there, and the more time I spend around her, the more I forget that Ezra is my brother.
Her laugh is sharp and cutting. Leaning closer, she whispers, “Then why are you here?”
Her wide eyes flicker with a challenge, daring me to lie again. For a moment, she looks like the same person who nearly ripped me a new one over luggage at her feet.
“Ezra’s officially missing,” I say, dodging her jab. “His assistant called. No ferries, no contact for two days. And that never happens. So I wanted to see if your sister’s missing too. They might be stuck someplace together because looks like they were on the same plane.”
Her eyes widen, panic flashing before rage surges back. “And you’re just now telling me? Too busy being a dick to notice your brother’s actually vanished?”
“Don’t start,” I snap, my temper flaring. “Martin called me literally minutes ago. Where did you think Ezra was then?”
“I don’t know.” She waves her hand in the air. “Out there somewhere, chasing deals and skirts. I don’t know him. I don’t know a thing about him. How would I know if he’s missing?”
Fair point, but I’d die before admitting that to her.
“Now you do. What do we do now?”
“I’ve already started gathering information.” She shakes the notebook in the air.
“Gathering information?” My voice drips with sarcasm. “By flirting out of your mind?”
She shoves the notebook at me, its pages flapping from the impact.
“Staff, must you be aware, always know more than anyone else. One of the guys saw someone like Maeve at the dock yesterday, chasing some boat and jumping into it. I’m calling everyone—ferry offices, locals, anyone who’ll listen, to find out whose boat that was. ”
I grab the notebook, and our fingers accidentally brush. The already familiar electrical surge runs through my arm. I scan her notes: vague staff comments provide no picture whatsoever.
“This is nothing,” I growl, tossing it back. “Where’s the name of the boat at least?”
“Nothing?” she hisses, rising to her feet and leaning her outstretched arms on the table. “It’s more than you’ve got. You’re useless.”
The air crackles with the rapidly thickening hatred and pointless accusations, but her closeness and defiance keep stirring that predator interest I’ve been struggling to keep under lock. I want to shove the table aside, pin her to that cold floor, and shut her up with my mouth.
But my brother is missing, and her sister too. So I stand, towering over her.
“Useless? Keep running your mouth, princess, and you’ll be the one who needs saving.”
She pushes away from the table, rising to her full height of five feet nothing—the top of her head barely reaching my chest.
“Saving? From you?” She laughs nonchalantly, but her voice is a bit shaky. “I don’t need saving nor help. I can find my sister and my fiancé without anyone’s help.”
Her emphasis on the word fiancé makes my jaw tick.
“Then do it,” I snarl, stepping back before I lose my cool. “Find your sister and your fiancé, but don’t drag me into your chaos.”
Her phone buzzes, cutting through the tension. She answers with her voice shifting to that honey-sweet charm.
“Hi, this is Beatrice Wrong.” Her face instantly changes. “Yes. Yes. Hold on.” She puts the person on speaker and asks, glancing at me, “What did he look like?”
A person on the other end of the line says, “Tall, in sour mood. Wore a dark suit in that heat.”
My gut twists—Ezra. The description fits: a tall and dark asshole in a suit. “That’s him,” I say, meeting Bea’s eyes.
Her face pales with panic. “Can you please repeat what you just told me?”
“I picked them both up at Bora Bora. They fought over my boat and then the woman stayed outside while the man came inside the cabin. We got hit by a sudden storm. We don’t have many of those around here.”
I watch Bea worry her lower lip, and the more he talks, the harder she bites into it. A little longer, and she’ll chew it to blood.
“The boat flipped, you know. It was a good boat but old. It flipped.” The person’s voice breaks at the end. “I got picked up by a party yacht, and we tried looking for them but couldn’t find anyone.”
“Give me the coordinates where the boat flipped,” I say as I pull my phone out to write down what he says.
While Bea keeps asking him questions, getting paler by the second, I pull up a search bar in a browser and quickly book a boat that can help me search for them.
When the person on the phone stops speaking, Bea presses the red button with a shaking finger. Her cheeks are striped with softly running tears, and I fight the urge to wipe them away.
“I’ll find them,” I promise before storming away to meet the captain with the rescue team.